Desperate Measures
by Stephanie7
Summary: With the rise of fierce competition in a less than legal word, Artemis Fowl must go to extreme lengths to protect all that his father established. Rated for humor and teenage hormones. Prologue


Disclaimer: I hold no ownership over Artemis, Holly, Foaly, or any other character in Artemis Fowl. I don't even own the storyline of Artemis Fowl! All I own is the story line for this story and a few self-created characters. So. . Don't sue.   
  
Author's Note: This is a very *short* prologue, and I await my death at the end of it from everyone. This story, however, will be continued. A Beta would be nice, since it is rather hopeless to Beta my own work.   
  
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Desperate Measures: A Prologue  
  
The dull light of the computer lit up the room in an unnaturally eerie shade of bluish green. A single shadowed was mobile against the far wall, and the sound of the clicking of keys could be heard.  
  
The clock read two a.m.   
  
At that time of night, most good little boys and girls would be tucked away dreaming of sugar plums and candy-canes. However, the figure, whose perfect posture mocked those who spent equally as much time as front of the computer as he, contradicted that fact in two ways: he was neither a good boy, nor was he ever to dream of sugar plums and candy canes. . of course, that is, unless those candy canes and sugar plums would further boost his family's wealth. Since it was not of the Christmas season as of yet, he did not think that to be likely.  
  
The clicking continued on, adding to the already detailed letter which was currently flowing from the brain of the raven-haired boy, through his fingertips, and onto the screen. To the left of him laid a stack of paper, his left hand occasionally going to flip one over, leaving seemingly a hundred more in its wake.   
  
A hand rose, slowly rubbing the tired eyes, weak and sore from staring for such a time at the screen before him. The letter was almost complete, infact, with the quick click of his finger, which rested so carefully on the mouse, the mail had been sent.   
  
He would wait, though not for too long.  
  
Within a matter of moments, a low voice could be heard from his computer. It was a sound which brought a grin to his face, a stiffening to his posture, and a schooch ( though he would never admit to 'schooching') forward in his chair to read the reply:  
  
"I've been waiting for you. 18/f!! 3124"  
  
His face couldn't have fallen further or more quickly.   
  
With a muttering of a few chosen words, he leaned back in his chair. He would have to speak to, well, himself, about putting up more accurate e-mail controls on his e-mail account. There was no way he could have eighteen year old females, no matter how long they had been waiting for him, interfere with his work.   
  
The way the bluish glow of the screen echoed of his face caused him to look older than his fourteen years. His eyes, black rings having formed under them, were set and determined, telling of troubles and intelligence a human of his age should never have possessed. His brow was wrinkled in concentration, and the way his hand was placed against his cheek, he resembled a man of 80 with his tired expression.   
  
His hand had just went to reach for the shutting down function on his computer when that tiny voice rang out again:  
  
"You have mail!"  
  
No words were spoken, and there was no grin that lit up his lips. However, if one could've gotten a good enough glance, beneath the bluish glow and tired expression, they would've seen a flicker of something else; a flicker of pure hope that it would be the letter he needed.  
  
"Dear Doctor F. Roy Dean Schlippe,   
We are pleased to inform you that your daughter, Aoife Schlippe, has been accepted to St. Patrick's School for the Advanced Female. We are honored to have your daughter join in our ranks, and we guarantee she will be receiving the best education Europe has to offer.   
Congratulations.  
Sincerely,  
Headmistress Darina McHalloy "  
  
The figured leaned back in his chair once more, enjoying the feeling of his aching feet from the cold ground, even if his Italian loafers kept them from touching it.   
  
"Well. It seems we have some packing to do." He spoke to no one in particular, unless you counted the door, and the giant of a man standing on the other side of it.  
  
Yes. The Great Artemis Fowl was going drag.   
A/N: I now wait quietly for my own death. 


End file.
